by Kamalla Rose Kaur
I am jealous of Dr. David T. Mason. He has had more fun than I have. He was gifted with amazing parents, wonderful circumstances, superior intelligence and copious talents. He has never been without resources and opportunities. David has traveled everywhere, studied everything and met all the coolest people; or so it seems to me at times.
I am jealous of David, but this is a good thing. Because I have experienced oppression and poverty in my life. I am a Mom and a woman, and they don’t pay Moms and women as much as other people. I have been forced to endure many dehumanizing jobs, and challenging service roles; high and low. At times I have been depressed and stuck; a zombie, a robot.
Were it not for my hot flashes of jealousy over the years, I might not have discovered what I really want, what I truly desire. I don’t want to be David. I just want to be myself; a singer, a writer, a theater director. I am not resentful of David, or others I envy. Quite the contrary, I obviously desire something for myself that I see shining brightly in the people I admire so intensely.
Unfortunately, these pea-green awakenings of my core longings have often threatened my life-as-usual. I may again break out, drop out, or drop in unexpectedly, have a change of heart, of mind, and do something odd, shocking, scandalous and/or political!
Meanwhile, those strange people who we are madly jealous of – yet we can’t admit it, not to anyone, much less ourselves – “those people” are deeply threatening to the world as we know it, and they should be destroyed. They have too much fun while the rest of us suffer. It is rumored that artists, and all sorts of other passionate people, especially the most liberally liberal of liberals (and homosexuals, of course), have more sex too. Better sex as well. They are egotists and braggarts, clearly.
David bores easily when he becomes the subject of conversation, and also when forced to listen to my stories or opinions (or other primate’s stories or opinions) again and again. He generally wishes to distract himself, and those around him, from ourselves; throw us off of the scripts we have been enacting. He invokes deeper and wider, sillier and wiser, topics to catch our fancies – hook us, drill us and thrill us.
Suddenly David hits a symbol with a hefty fuzzy-headed mallet. He hits it hard, causing a teeth trembling, hair bristling, bone buzzing, sub-woofing, “ONNNNnnGGGGggggggnnnggg!!!” to happen.
“We were speaking of Mother Nature.” David reminds me as soon as there is silence available.
“Were we?” I reply archly, my eyebrows soaring high. My hair is suddenly horrific dreads of wiggling snakes and my eyes beam rock-hard resistance at him.
“Don’t mess with the Mother Nature metaphor, David.” I warn him icily.
“Uh…I’ve never met a metaphor, a-fore, I didn’t like.” David quips, not quite meeting my eyes. Then he asks meekly, “May I play with the Father God metaphor instead?” His beard is whitening and lengthening.
“No!” I snap, “There is no time!”
“Please David, just tell us what metaphor you use, if any, when you ponder Creation.”
“It will still be a mere metaphor attempting to explain a pure mystery.”
“We understand.” I assure him.
“May we also dispense with the use of snake metaphors?” David inquires, warily eying my helmet of coiling, roiling reptiles. He hands me a mirror.
“Oh sure.” I say primly, patting my, magically restored, homosapien hair-do with relief. “I have had so many snakes on my mind recently.”
“Indeed, we all have.” David sympathizes. “How about instead of Mother Nature, or Father Nature, or Sister or Brother Nature, we simply call it Our Nature?” David suggests.
“Our Nature?” I repeat.
“Yes, our most intimate and infinite, Natures.”